


Rule Over My Heart

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Genderplay, Jewelry, M/M, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and Fingolfin roleplay Finwë and Míriel in bed together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule Over My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uumuu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/gifts).



"It is not meet that any child of Indis' should look so like our father," Fëanor said, his hands gently cupping Fingolfin's face, his eyes carefully looking him over as if inspecting him. They were lying in bed together after making love, sated, naked limbs entwined. 

Fingolfin sighed. "Must you bring that even to bed with us?" His voice was half-annoyed, half-bored, but an indulgent smile lingered on his lips, for he did resemble their father greatly. 

Fëanor was small and lithe, like Míriel had been. He had her manner of speaking, and his eyes and mouth were patterned after hers, though he had Finwë's nose and straight black hair. Fingolfin, on the other hand, had nothing of Indis in his looks, and might well have been copied from Finwë wholesale. 

A smile danced on Fëanor's face, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to Fingolfin's lips. "If I were to call you 'father' in bed, would you object?" His voice was very low and sultry, the very same tone he had used when first enticing Fingolfin into bed. Fingolfin could not resist it. 

"Not at all, but what if I were to call you 'wife'? he asked, merely to be able to tell himself that he wouldn't surrender to Fëanor completely. 

Fëanor's smile grew radiant. "If I were to call you Finwë?" he said. 

"If I were to call you Míriel?" Fingolfin shot back immediately - half-regretting the words the moment they left his mouth. Fëanor was infamously protective of his late mother's memory, and might shove him out of bed for his disrespect. He closed his eyes, almost ready to burst out with apologies. 

But Fëanor laughed instead, throwing himself back into the pillows, grinning at the ceiling. After a moment he sobered, and half-sat up, smiling down at Fingolfin. 

"So Finwë Ñoldóran, dost thou wish to bed the fair Míriel, the Þerindë, Byrde Míriel, the Broideress? Thou, King of the Ñoldor, wouldst have for thine own that peerless one, wise and fair?" He brushed the back of his hand against Fingolfin's cheek. "What say you?"

Fingolfin found that he was trembling. It seemed that they bordered on something far more intimate than their relationship had ever held before, and he was keen to grasp it before it slipped away from them. "I would," he said, reaching up to hold Fëanor's hand. "I, Finwë, would take thee to my bed, would love thee until pleasure could not be contained between us, fair Míriel Þerindë," he went on, careful to pronounce Míriel's name as Fëanor had.

Fëanor bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Then come to me here after ten Minglings, and find for thy delectation the fairest of all the Ñoldor." 

\-----

The next few days seemed to pass in a haze. Fingolfin took the time to slip into his father's rooms and quietly borrow an old robe that he remembered Finwë wearing long ago. It was in a style so old it might well have come over the Sea, might well have been a garment Finwë wore while courting Míriel, long before Fëanor and Fingolfin were ever thought of. 

At the tenth Mingling since their last meeting, Fingolfin made his way, cloaked and hooded, through the streets of Tirion to the small apartment where they tended to meet. It was out of the way, far from both the palace where he lived, and Fëanor's home on the outskirts of the city. Telperion's light shone down silvery as he applied his key to the door. 

Just inside, he blinked twice, not quite understanding what his eyes were showing him. A woman with silver hair sat on the sofa. She wore a long dress which seemed to be made of woven silver itself, and opals decorated her ears, neck, and wrists. Her feet were bare. 

"Come in, Finwë," she said, and Fingolfin breathed a sigh of relief, for though Fëanor had spoken in a higher register than usual, there was no doubt that it was him. 

He stepped forward until he stood just before her, and then went to his knees. "Fair I have named thee," he said, "fair beyond fair thou art. I offer thee myself. Thou art the true ruler of our people, for thou dost rule over my heart, and the privilege will be mine if thy wish is to stand by my side." A warmth spread through Fingolfin to be able to say those words, even in the name of guise and play.

She bent forward from her seated position, taking his hands in her own. "Wilt thou take me to bed, lord and husband?" she asked, her voice soft and entreating. 

Fingolfin stood, and then bent, lifting Fëanor into his arms. Fëanor shot him a quick grin that was all his own, then lay back, permitting himself to be carried into the bedroom and laid down on top of the bed like a queen. 

Fingers trailing across her neck, where the opals rested in a silver setting, Fingolfin breathed, "How do you want me?" Fëanor grinned again, as if he could not quite repress it, then spoke again in Míriel's voice. 

"In thy due place," she said breathily, "beneath me. Remove thy clothes." 

She watched as Fingolfin carefully removed his father's robe. He was so hard already that it was slightly damp at a certain spot, he noticed to his mortification. 

"Thou art hard, ready and willing," she commented. "Wilt find that I am prepared for thee, and eager to receive thee into my body." Fingolfin could barely restrain himself, hearing that, and made haste to throw off all his clothes, leaving them crumpled on the ground. He lay down on the bed next to her, and held out his arms. 

A bulge in the silver dress nearly ruined the effect, but Fëanor climbed onto him, fully clothed, and sank down immediately. Fingolfin's cock breached his arse with little resistance, and slid all the way to the hilt. One of his hands at Fëanor's hip underneath the dress, he fumbled for his cock with the other, stroking it firmly. 

"I would make thee come," he said, "would hear thee cry out in pleasure, fair Míriel." She was moving up and down on him, slower than he would prefer, a wicked gleam of delight in her eyes. Her earrings swung back and forth, chiming pleasantly, and her bracelets tinkled against one another. 

"More," Fingolfin begged. "Harder, please, Fëa-Míriel!" He wanted to turn her over, to pound into her hard and fast, but wasn't sure if Fëanor wished for that. 

Fëanor bent and kissed him, then slipped off him and onto the bed, pulling the dress up to his waist and spreading his legs. His cock was visible, hard and leaking. "Take me," he said, meeting Fingolfin's eyes. "I am thine." 

Fingolfin made haste to roll over and push back into him, then for the pleasure of it, pulled out and breached him again. His blood seemed to be racing in his veins, and every thrust into Fëanor sent it higher and hotter. 

"Finwë, Finwë, Finwëya," Fëanor chanted, voice reedy and breathless, head moving restlessly, jewellery chiming. Fingolfin brought his hand down to stroke his cock, and Fëanor's lips moved, almost soundless, forming the word, "Father," as he gasped and came, seed landing on the silver dress, staining it gloriously. 

Fingolfin could no longer hold back. He dropped his head down, ploughed into Fëanor once more, stilled, and pulsed into him, sobbing wordlessly as he came. 

He could no longer hold himself up, and ended up with his head on Fëanor's chest, Fëanor stroking his hair in a gesture that was almost loving. 

After a few moments they disentangled themselves, Fingolfin helping Fëanor tug off the dress and the silver wig he wore, and carefully remove the earrings, bracelets, and necklace. Fëanor laid them all to one side, and then rolled back into Fingolfin's waiting arms.

"I spoke only the truth when I said you were fair beyond fair," Fingolfin said, taking Fëanor's face in his hands, and pressing quick little kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his brow in turn. 

Fëanor gave him a wickedly mischievous glance. "And what about when you said I ruled over your heart? Was that truth too?"

Fingolfin pressed his lips to Fëanor's again, trying to convey with a kiss what words could never sum up fully. 

"It was truth," he said at last, and held Fëanor close.


End file.
